


The Women

by missmollyetc



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Implied Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-22
Updated: 2005-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 11:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s all about Don, except when it’s about Charlie.  Follows <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=missmollyetc&keyword=Numb3rs&filter=all">“Code Breaking.”</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Women

One.

  
David and Charlie were talking around her, pointing out possible flaws in the counterfeit ten dollar bills that the secret service agent, Hall--no, ‘Kim,’ had left on the projector. Terry looked out the glass windows.

They were standing outside in the walkway between desk cubicles, arguing politely. ‘Kim’ was speaking, looking up into Don’s face. She seemed defensive but still open, a sign of somewhat strained trust. Clearly, she was looking for an opening, but the question was what _sort_ of opening. Don was intent, but uncomfortable, gauging whether the passersby were actually eavesdroppers.

This undercurrent between Kim and Don was unexpected. Terry didn’t like surprises, especially ones with such curious body language. Not that her only concern was _Don_ being the focus of Kim’s…interest, but…they were both trying so _very_ hard to seem professional.

When ‘Kim’ had made her entrance, Terry had been walking back to her desk, and she’d seen _definite_ lag time before Don and Kim had shaken hands. That type of delayed reaction spoke of some kind of personal history, and not a very easy one at that.

In the debrief, Kim had put the table between herself and Don, barely looking up from the bills under her ultraviolet hook up. They’d both been professional enough that the only obvious signs were the amount of tension in the set of their shoulders, and the overly formal interaction. David certainly hadn’t picked up anything. Terry pursed her lips.

Caution and respect in Kim and Don’s verbal interplay, but awkwardness in their physical proximity. He hadn’t mentioned any previous encounters, but then…Don wouldn’t. He’d always been private, up to and including the strict partitioning of his personal and professional relationships. Case in point, their own relationship--relationships, which she was absolutely fine with--grateful for, actually. Even though she’d put her arm around Don’s waist outside the jewelry store shooting, and…but, Don hadn’t really said anything.

Charlie’s hand flailed in her field of vision, and Terry stifled an annoyed huff. The expansive gestures were a patently juvenile method of attention gathering, but one she supposed was ingrained by now. He stood beside her, and clicked his teeth twice.

“Did-did I say the wrong thing?” he asked. “Because I did _not_ mean to step on anyone’s toes here. I was just…trying to help.”

More like trying to look good in front of his big brother. She smiled reflexively--he really _was_ cute in a bewildered puppy sort of way--and shook her head.

“No, it’s…interagency politics,” she said. “Nothing to worry about.”

Charlie nodded, but his brow wrinkled, and his shoulders curled a bit into his chest.

She crossed her arms over her stomach. Charlie was basically harmless, if a little too much at times. She’d noticed Don kept an eye out when Charlie was in the building, stepping in when Charlie was stepping _on_ other people’s toes.

Unfortunately, Charlie’s tendency towards the pedantic had been Kim’s excuse to assert herself. In fact, Kim had seemed to take his very _appearance_ with difficulty, almost as if she expected something from him that she hadn’t received. And Terry hadn’t missed Don and Kim’s little silent exchange, either.

“Have you met Agent Hall before?” she asked. She let her arms fall to the side, indicating a willingness for conversation.

Charlie blinked. His chin raised, so he was feeling defensive. “No, no I haven’t,” he said. “Why…you think she’s a disgruntled former student, or something?”

Terry laughed, and shook her head. “Forget it,” she said. “It was just a thought.”

David turned away from the screen, and sat on the table by the projector.

“So, speaking of students…how’s _Amita_ doing?” David asked.

She grinned, and catalogued both Charlie’s usual slight blush at the mention of Amita’s name, and David’s sudden lean forward. David was coming along far better than she’d originally projected. He was every inch the professional she’d expected, but the smooth integration into the work unit could mostly be put down to Don’s influence as team leader. David learned better when given clear objectives and reliable authority; it gave him the security to extrapolate and theorize.

“She’s good, she’s good,” Charlie said, glancing to his right, and then out the window wall.

“I hope you told her how much we appreciated her coming down to help with the security videos,” David said.

Well, how much _David_ had appreciated it, anyway. And she’d noticed Don wasn’t immune to Amita’s charms, either. Charlie had been able to include his ‘thesis advisee’ in his consultant work with suspiciously little upset.

Charlie’s eyes went wide. He rubbed his hands together, and again, looked out to his brother.

“Oh! Well, she was happy to do it. She’s been…”

Terry took a quick look through the wall, herself. Outside, Don and Kim were speaking rapidly, their conversation had obviously veered into--but she _wasn’t_ obsessing.

“Are we appreciating Amita, or her short skirts?” she teased, breaking into the conversation.

Charlie chuckled nervously, and his left foot tapped the carpet. David shrugged--he wanted to change the subject. Boys were boys, even outside the sandbox. Terry grinned.

“Actually, she’s teaching a first year class in combinatorics with another professor,” Charlie said. “It’s--it’s really just a requirement course, but Kristopolous is all right. Little flighty.”

David raised an eyebrow in her direction, and Terry raised one right back. Charlie--like with so many social interactions--didn’t seem to notice. “Good to know,” she said.

“Well, it’s not something I’m into particularly,” Charlie said, waving a hand through the air. “But, hey, whatever works for Amita--are you _sure_ I didn’t do something wrong?”

Terry opened her mouth to answer, and found herself brought up short. Beyond the window wall Don and ‘Kim’ had adopted very intimate poses with bent heads, and intense looks--and she wasn’t the only one taking notice.

Charlie was frowning out the window. Occasionally, he’d consider Kim, but always back to Don. If even _Charlie_ was seeing something wrong…Terry crossed her arms over her chest, and observed the outside conversation. Don was tensely posed, but with an interested tilt to his head. Wary, would about sum it up, perhaps a trace apologetic, but what was there to be sorry for? It was the FBI’s case, and Charlie was a significant help when kept under control. If Ms. Secret Service ‘05 had a problem with that, then Terry could show her where to stick it.

She frowned at Charlie’s profile, and then glanced back out the window. Kim was walking off, and her posture indicated determination, but also hurt. Why would Kim be _hurt_?

David coughed, and she refocused her attention. Charlie continued to stare, but as Don glanced into the conference room, Charlie tilted his head down to face David, uncomfortable, but superficially engaged.

“I’m thinking about running through the list of people our dead teenagers came into contact with,” David said. “Maybe get out of the office for awhile.”

“Looking for Tonto, Lone Ranger?” she asked.

David laughed, and she and Charlie joined in.

  
***

  
Kim had about three minutes, tops, to herself before the swirl and urgency of the case caught her again, so she’d escaped back to the corner conference room--the one with actual _walls_ and not windows. She wasn’t…bothered, per se, she was simply--she needed some time alone. Time to regroup.

The case was interesting. The case was involving. She’d gotten closer to the counterfeiters than either of the two secret service agents before her, and that stoked a hot little fire in the back of her brain. It was a very nice feeling. It would be an even better feeling if…

Not that it wasn’t just _terrific_ to catch up with her ex-fiancé after three years silence while on the job. Not that it wasn’t a real _kick_ to be outdone by the little brother she’d never even _spoken_ to before. Not that she had to stop herself from asking if Don’d even _gotten_ the ring she’d mailed from her mother’s place before he slunk off back to L.A, and his damn family.

She bit her lip, and crossed her arms over her stomach. Not that any of that mattered anymore.

There was one hell of a difference between Don in Albuquerque, and Don in L.A.. Albuquerque Don had smiled with his entire face. L.A. Don only seemed to smile with his mouth, if that.

Kim shook her head and stepped closer to the map stuck onto the corkboard. Black tacks dotted the surface. Don’s brother Charlie had thrust them forward exactly, each pushed in to the plastic hilt. Don was like that too, no tack would dare be crooked around Agent Eppes.

And Albuquerque Don had loved her. Well, at least she thought he had. The whole ‘gradual loss of contact and permanent transfer’ sure hadn’t been a step down the rice-strewn aisle. And if all it had taken was a change of venue for him to just up and…well. Maybe there hadn’t been much difference between Albuquerque Don and L.A. Don after all.

She tapped her index finger over San Bernardino thoughtfully. Charlie had worked for hours without a real break, lost in his own head--something she’d only heard Don talk about before. Charlie hadn’t so much worked with her, as he had worked around her, which was also vaguely reminiscent of Don. But, Don’d never noticed that he did the same thing on a case, and she’d never felt comfortable teasing him about the similarity.

And Don hadn’t told Charlie about her. How damn typical. There was work, and then there was family, and what happened at work _never_ had a bearing on what happened at home, because Don wouldn’t allow it. Just like with those damn Cds of his.

Everything in its place. Maybe that should have been some sort of tip off.

“Hey, um…so how did the seven bills thing go?”

She turned, and there was Charlie, holding a cup of coffee in each hand. He stuck a cup in her direction, and she took it automatically. He smiled, nodded a bit, and looked to the ground.

“Thanks,” she said, and chuckled to herself.

Coffee as an apology. Don had used to do the same thing. Well, he’d added a Danish with the coffee, but she and Charlie just weren’t that close.

“It’s no problem,” Charlie said quietly.

She moved away form the corkboard, and eased herself onto the table top. He trailed after her, stopping a few feet away. She took a sip of her coffee, glancing over at the map. All those black tacks, and six people dead. And without that probability algorithm, they’d still be at square one. The world was a strange place.

Charlie’s name hadn’t come up often in Albuquerque, though he’d always asked after him over the phone. His only photo had been from his college graduation, and from what little Don had said, Kim had always pictured the genius younger brother locked away in his room, surrounded by loose leaf paper, and pencils worn to the nub. The image didn’t quite fit the young man in front of her now.

“It went pretty good,” she said. “We’ve got a solid lead…just waiting for it to pan out.”

He grinned, and she found herself smiling back. He had the Eppes charm when he smiled, but without Don’s worn edges, there was something…it might have been the loose curls. Charlie Eppes was a bit more laid-back than his brother appearance-wise, or maybe he just didn’t care. Though--she thought of all those paperclips he’d picked up--Charlie was just as meticulous as his brother.

“So, when did you start working with Don?” she asked.

Charlie paused in the act of sipping his coffee. “He asked me to help him on a case,” he said.

“Forgery?”

“Tax fraud, actually,” he said.

Kim nodded. Number crunching sounded right up Charlie’s alley. Don probably kept him on to keep the guys in the evidence locker honest.

“But lately I’ve been doing more consulting for Don than usual,” he said. “There was this serial rapist case...” Charlie swallowed. “That felt good. To help with that, I mean. I can see why you guys do this.”

“A _serial rapist_?”

Kim choked on her coffee. Albuquerque Don never would have put his little brother into a case like that. Hell, he hadn’t even liked it when _she’d_ been working a rape case.

Charlie’s chin stuck forward, thick eyebrows drawing together. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s been really great getting to work so closely with him.”

Kim blinked, and drew her head back. She had to remember this wasn’t her turf. If Don…hell, who knew what went through his head anymore.

“I…I’m sure it is,” she said. “Don’s…great to work with.”

Great to work with, great to be with, and most days those two aspects weren’t mutually exclusive. Until there was a problem, and then one part just shut all the way down, and suddenly he was in L.A. and she was in Albuquerque, and all the plans they’d made became plans she got to abandon in _their_ apartment. Kim took a drink, and licked the coffee off her lower lip. Wonderful, now she was getting maudlin.

She looked up, and Charlie was watching her again. He had the same look in his eyes, that he’d had staring at the map over San Bernardino, and Kim wasn’t sure she liked it. She spared a thought to that kid in the bedroom, collecting information in the center of a mass of papers like a spider in his web. What kind of information was Charlie looking for now? She took a deep breath, smiling.

“So, is it all just probability algorithms around here, or what?” she asked.

Charlie leaned closer, a gleam on his face she remembered from Don talking about baseball stats.

“Actually the range of mathematics applicable in a given crime can’t be restricted to a simple algorithm,” he said. Charlie’s free hand waved in the air. “Given sufficient information, I can extrapolate credible proofs from diverse data--anything from geographic positioning to…huh. You know Don asked me to solve a millennium problem once?”

He shook his head, smiling a little at the memory. “He actually thought I could do it.”

“Did you?” she asked, since he was clearly waiting for a response.

He shook his head, and sipped his coffee. “A millennium problem? Not in the time frame we had available, but…it turned out okay in the end. Don knew what to do.”

“Well, he’s good at that,” she said.

“He’s the best,” Charlie said, looking over at her.

Kim found herself straightening from her slouch on the table. What, did he think the break up had been _her_ fault? That she couldn’t deal with Don leaving? Because she _had_ handled Don leaving, and then Don staying gone. She’d moved on with her life.

And Don had obviously gone on with his. Kim looked down at her coffee. After all, he was working with _Terry_ , and, when Kim and Don had first met, she’d heard all about Don and Terry’s Excellent Adventures.

“Is--is Don seeing someone?” she asked.

Charlie jumped, and moved a step away. His coffee sloshed a little over his fingers, but he didn’t seem to notice. Why did that make her feel like she’d just scored a hit?

“Why--what?” he asked, cocking his head. “Did--did he say something?”

His hand rubbed at the neck of his undershirt, and then dropped like lead. She stood up, holding her cup tightly. A strange tension ran down her spine.

“No! I--”

“Because if he did,” he interrupted, “all I’m saying is that he never--I mean, it’s not something _I_ would…why would he say anything to me?”

He tried to smile, and failed spectacularly. Kim shook her head, and felt like kicking herself. Why the _hell_ had she asked that? And what the hell was she doing asking Don’s _kid brother_ to squeal on him, like this was some kind of international coffee moment. She didn’t _care_ if Don was seeing someone else…if Don was seeing _someone_.

Kim closed her eyes briefly, and rubbed the incipient headache away from her forehead. “I just thought…you know, I don’t know what I thought, and…sorry.”

She took another sip of coffee. Charlie shrugged. He set his cup down on the table, and picked it back up again.

“It’s not like he _talks_ to me,” he muttered.

Kim’s breath caught. She looked down at the swirl of cream in her coffee, and jostled the cup until the thin, white stream blended back into the liquid. She heard Charlie shuffle his feet next to her.

“Oh, hey…look, I’m--I’m not good at this,” Charlie said. “I--”

She raised her hand, looking up with a smile she hoped didn’t look as strained as it felt. “It’s all right,” she said. “Bad topic. Um, so I hear you’re a teacher, right?”

  
***

  
Amita swiveled the rearview mirror towards her, and ran a nail under the edge of her lipstick, wiping away nonexistent smears. She checked her teeth for lunch, and grinned at herself, before looking away. She tapped the steering wheel of her convertible, and looked up at Charlie’s front door.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been to his house before--she’d even just dropped by a few times, but for some reason…today felt different.

Maybe it was simply because she’d just gotten her hair done, and the manicure she’d promised herself, if she actually finished the last proof on Kristopolous’ syllabus before dying of boredom, was scheduled for next Tuesday. She felt all…girly.

Not that she was dressing up for her professor, or anything. That would just be silly. Once, during finals, Charlie had seen her in blue jeans and a sweat shirt for three weeks, and still noticed her every day. Well, he’d ‘noticed’ enough to present her with a graph predicting the exact date and time her sweat shirt would really live up to its name. The next Monday, she’d come into the lab in a t-shirt and shorts, and he and Larry had treated her to lunch.

She still had to get him back for that one. Maybe Mr. Eppes would let her fill his bathtub with chocolate pudding. Or, Don could let slip something _really_ embarrassing to torment Charlie with. Big brothers were good for that, they understood the need for revenge. Besides, Don always seemed to make Charlie his business when they were together, so he’d be a lot less cranky if he was already in on the joke.

She had to find something better than the time Charlie had fallen asleep in the lab, and Larry had gotten the Physics department grad students to play “Gulliver’s Travels” and tie Charlie to the big table.

Amita started laughing. God, that had been a good day. He’d just been so _surprised_.

“Amita? Is that you, honey?”

She twisted in the driver’s seat, smiling, and leaned over the car door. Mr. Eppes was standing on the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of his jeans. She straightened in her seat, and waved.

“Hi, Mr. Eppes,” she said, trying to control the laughter.

Mr. Eppes ambled over to her car, and looked from her to the house. “What are you doing here? My genius son didn’t forget you again, did he? Because I _told_ you to just come on in the next time that happened.”

He raised one bushy eyebrow, and she giggled. “No, I…felt like stopping by.”

“Really?”

Amita nodded. The other eyebrow raised, but Mr. Eppes didn’t look unhappy. He was a good guy, it was easy to see where Charlie got it from. She supposed Don got the seriousness from their mother.

“Well, he’s been working on some kind of money problem with his brother for a few days now,” Mr. Eppes said. “I’m sure he could use your help.”

Money case? Oh, the robbery. “Actually, I think I _did_ help out with that,” she said.

“Did you now?” he asked. “That’s good. I hope the Bureau knows the kind of quality they’ve got helping them.”

“Well, it’s just Don,” she said. “He’s a good guy, you know?”

And Charlie, who had asked her specially because of her work with the imaging nerds. Not to mention the quality of the puzzles the FBI needed consultants for was _insane_. Math wasn’t her first language--at least not the way Charlie spoke it, but no wonder he did so much for the Bureau.

She leaned back and popped the car door open, stepping out into the driveway. Mr. Eppes backed up a step, and nodded. Amita smoothed the crinkles out of the back of her jacket,, and grabbed her purse, settling it firmly on one shoulder.

“With Don, it’s never just Don,” Mr. Eppes said. “He expects a lot out of his people--almost as much as himself, but…well.” He shook his head, and waved a hand. “He always finds the good people.”

“I thought he was supposed to find the _bad_ people?” She smiled.

Mr. Eppes cocked his head, and laughed. He gestured her towards the house, and started walking up the drive.

“Come on in,” he said. “I’m sure Charlie’ll be thrilled to see you.”

She nodded, tightened her grip on her purse, and followed Mr. Eppes to the front door.

  
***

  
L.A. was a horrible place to try and get some sleep. Airplanes, police cars, other tenants…Florence had always been a light sleeper. Her Herbie--God rest his soul--had always said the government had invented soundproofing just so Florence Green could sleep through the night.

The apartment she’d taken after the house had gotten too big for her wasn’t soundproofed, _that_ was certain. Florence turned over on her pillow and blinked at the clock. Almost two in the morning, and that horrible young man with the band in the apartment above was banging his way across the floor again.

Really. Was a little common decency too much to ask anymore?

Florence slowly rose from her bed, patting her curls back into place with one hand. She sighed, and watched the light from the street lamps slice across her feet. Now, where were her slippers…ah, right where she’d left them near the edge of the bed frame. She sunk her feet into the wool, and smiled a little. Her Herbie--God rest his soul--had always been on at her for losing track of things.

“Your head, Flo,” he’d always said (the only person she’d let call her that), “is far too full for one person to take.”

Then he’d kiss her forehead on his way out to work, and she’d get the kids ready for school, and the house would be hers for another day. It’d been a good life, the news on the radio and the papers by her chair, and talking every evening over dinner with Herbie.

Florence pulled herself away from the bed, keeping a hand on the part of her back that refused to work right these days, and made her way to the living room. There was always something on, now that her Joey had gotten her cable for her birthday. That nice Starsky & Hutch show for instance, or the Man From U.N.C.L.E.

Florence smiled. She’d loved her Herbie--God rest his soul--from the moment she’d met him, but that Ilya Kuryakin could do a number on any girl’s heart. His partner, that Solo character, was bit too flashy for her, give her substance over style any day.

As she passed by the entryway to her front door, she heard a thump. Florence froze. There it was again.

She tiptoed to her front door, and pressed her ear to the thin wood. The thumping became clearer and spaced out into footsteps, pacing outside in the hall. She rattled the chain above her head, making sure it was locked in place, and then cautiously opened the door.

Well. That hippie boy was back again. The one with the curls and the denim who’d caused all the ruckus awhile ago. He was coming in later than usual. Florence narrowed her eyes.

He had a box.

In fact, he was pacing outside of Agent Eppes’ door, with the box in his arms.

Was that ticking she heard?

She drew back a little, and the chain jingled. She held her breath, but the hippie boy hadn’t heard her. She relaxed slowly, but kept alert. The villains always struck when no one was watching.

He didn’t look happy. In fact, he looked damn--pardon her French--upset, pressured, like her Herbie--God rest his soul--after a hard day.

Florence considered saying something, but decided against it. The only time she had, the hippie had started arguing with her, _while_ yelling at Agent Eppes through the door. Maybe he was some sort of informant. He’d been quiet every visit afterwards, and Agent Eppes had shown him inside very quickly.

She still kept an eye on him though. She’d seen what happened when Sydney Bristow had started bringing her work home with her. Informants were two-faced, and Agent Eppes--such a nice boy, even though he needed someone--seemed just a little happier to see the hippie boy every time he came around.

She was a mother. She knew what happy boys looked like, and she knew how easy it was to hurt a happy boy.

The pacing was increasing. What was in that box? Files damaging to the security of the nation? Computer disks with top secret information on them? Maybe the hippie boy was actually an agent undercover with the mafia, and Agent Eppes was his handler!

Florence squinted at the boy. His hands were tapping on the sides of the box, the top flap bounced off his chest as he moved. He really wasn’t all that bad looking…needed a haircut though. The hippie boy bit his lip, and blinked rapidly.

Oh no. The hippie boy was in trouble, and he could only trust Agent Eppes to help him. Maybe he’d finally crossed a line he’d never knew he’d had. Maybe his past had finally caught up with him! Maybe…maybe he was on the _run_.

The hippie boy suddenly stopped in the center of the hall, and stared down into the box in his arms. He clenched his arms around it, and swallowed hard--just like her Joey at six years old in the doctor’s office. She held her breath, while the hippie boy came to his decision.

Life was _so_ much more interesting since Agent Eppes had moved into the building.

He turned to face the door, and raised a hand. His wrist bones protruded from his sleeve, the boy needed feeding up. He paused, then knocked beneath the apartment number. “Don?” he called.

She let her breath ease out, and nodded her head as Agent Eppes’ voice came back through the door, too muffled to be much more than sound. The door opened, and the hippie boy walked over the threshold.

Well. Florence closed her door, and patted the wood. There wasn’t much chance of anything happening now. The hippie boy stayed for hours at a time. Some days he even left _after_ Agent Eppes.

She walked back into her living room, and sat down on the couch. She settled the couch blanket over her knees, and picked up her remote control. One of her stories was bound to be on.

  
End.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Ah, comfort fic, how well you allow me to step outside the _soul crushing angst_. Trust me, there’s slash. Just squint. All mistakes are most certainly mine.
> 
> Thank you [](http://kellis-amberlee.livejournal.com/profile)[**kellis_amberlee**](http://kellis-amberlee.livejournal.com/)!


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